


Bachelor Party

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [54]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bachelor Party shenanigans, F/M, Very pregnant Darcy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Lying to your wife about where you are is always a bad idea, Brock Rumlow realizes.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [54]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484168
Comments: 69
Kudos: 318





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *I own nothing! This one takes place in the [ "Who Are You?"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21006731/chapters/49958225#workskin) verse.

“Oh God,” Rumlow said, rubbing his eyes as light flooded the motel room. He blinked. “What the fuck, Jack?” 

“Rollins is still passed out on the floor,” Natasha Romanoff said dryly. “I’m here to warn you that your wife is coming. Someone told her you weren’t on a work mission.”

“Fuck,” Brock said, sitting up abruptly. “Darcy’s coming?”

“You have a five minute window,” Romanoff said.

“Fuck,” he repeated, moving hurriedly. “Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. Where are my fucking shoes?” 

“You traded ‘em for them jelly shoes,” Jack muttered, face against the carpet. “After we left the place.”

“Would that be the Treasure Box?” Romanoff said archly. They’d been at a strip club for Hernandez’s bachelor party. And several bars. He’d been too drunk to go home. Darcy was going to murder him, he thought.

“Shit,” Brock said, sliding his feet into the purple glitter slides. He tried to get up and almost tripped. “Motherfucker,” he said. 

Brock was hustling down the steps of the motel’s exterior when he realized he was too late. Darcy’s car was parked behind his—blocking him in. “Shit,” he whispered to himself. He heard the door slam and she came walking slowly around the front of her Civic. His very pregnant wife waddled towards him.

“You asshole!” she yelled. 

“Fuck,” he repeated. She moved in his direction, glaring at him. 

“You’re dead to me,” Darcy said. 

“Honey,” he began, aiming for a coaxing tone. “Sweetheart, _Ciccia,_ my little Cake Pop—”

“Don’t you nickname me!” she said. “I’m here to tase you and then serve you with divorce papers!”

“Baby,” Brock said, “you don’t wanna divorce me. We’re having a baby.”

“Nuh-uh!” Darcy said. “Take it back!”

“The baby?” Brock asked, frowning.

“Your half, you ass!” Darcy said, swinging her purse at him. “I should have had a baby with someone smarter. Well, my next baby will have a better dad, let me freaking tell you, you complete dbag!” Furiously, she started smacking him with the issue of _Us Weekly_ that had been sticking out of her purse. He caught it and her, pulling Darcy closer.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “I didn’t misbehave, okay? I had some drinks, yeah, but nothing else, all right?”

“You lied to me,” Darcy said.

“A little lie,” he bargained. “Cake Pop,”—she practically hissed at the endearment; it was normally her favorite of his pet names—“I’m sorry, Hernandez wanted me there and I didn’t want you upset, since the Nugget is due any minute—”

“She’s not your Nugget, she’s a single parented Nugget now,” she said, not softening. He scratched his chin, bewildered. Usually, he could talk his way out of trouble. She’d never not forgiven him, when he’d apologized and explained himself.

“How can I apologize better, honey?” Brock asked. 

“Where are your shoes?” Darcy said.

“Uhhh,” Brock said. There was a noise behind him.

“Hullo, Darce,” Jack said. Darcy looked suddenly canny. He had a sinking feeling.

“You can start by finding your shoes,” she said coolly. “With me. We’ll go everywhere you went last night.”

“Oh,” Brock said, feeling his stomach sink to the vicinity of his toes.

“Where was that again?” Darcy said. He was silently panicking when someone else stepped out of the adjacent motel room in a Hawaiian shirt and a towel. “Steve?” Darcy said. “What are you doing here?” She sounded shocked.

“Uhh, I’m not sure,” Cap said slowly. “Has anybody seen my pants?”

“You left them at that Denny’s, Cap,” a second voice said. It was Scott Lang, following Rogers out of the room. He was wearing a Bangles t-shirt.

“Why are we crowding the doorway? Is there a traffic jam at this ridiculously low rent establishment?” Hank Pym said from behind Scott. His suit was rumpled.

“Oh, Hank and Scott, not you, too,” Darcy said, crossing her arms.

“Hi, Darcy,” Scott said cheerfully. “Wow, you’re really pregnant.”

"An astute observation as always, Scott," Hank said sarcastically. 

* * *

“Have some water, Steve,” Nat said, passing up a water bottle from the SUV’s third row seat. She and Jack were in the very back. Brock and Darcy were up front, and Steve was in the middle with the visiting Californians.

“Thanks. I can’t remember anything,” Steve said, “nothing.” He looked perplexed. “I remember everything since 1921.” Next to him, Scott smiled encouragingly. 

“I’m sure it’ll come back, Cap,” Scott said. On Scott’s other side, Hank frowned. They’d given Steve a pair of Jack’s gym shorts before being wrangled into tagging along on the recreation of last night. Darcy had asked. And they were all slightly too terrified of the tiny, alarmingly pregnant figure in the passenger seat to decline. She was busy glaring at Brock. 

“It’s highly irregular,” Hank said. “This entire trip is highly irregular.”

“Where was the main place you went?” Darcy said suddenly. Brock muttered something indistinct. “What?”

“The Treasure Box,” Brock said grimly.

“The Treasure Box?” Darcy said. “And that is—?”

“A gentleman’s club of the disreputable variety,” Hank said.

“He means a strip club,” Scott said. “I haven’t had a night this crazy since college.”

“Lang,” Brock said.

“It’s not Scott’s fault,” Darcy said. “Are you getting enough air?” she called to Jack and Natasha.

“We’re good,” Nat said. She drank from the soft drink she’d brought with her.

“Thanks, darl,” Jack called.

“So, you went to a bunch of bars and a strip club? And then after that?” Darcy said.

“It’s less...clear,” Brock said.

“Denny’s!” Scott said. “I remember Denny’s.”

“Well, we’ll have to fill in the blanks,” Darcy said.

“I seem to remember a bar with Tom Selleck’s face,” Hank admitted.

“That’s U Street,” Nat said helpfully. “I’ve been told you went to several bars on U Street.”

  
  


They went to the bars along U Street first. They found the one with Tom Selleck’s face in a mural after their fourth or fifth bar--and their fourth or fifth security tape. They’d all been really drunk, Brock realized. Steve and Jack had been throwing back drinks, he’d had several margaritas, it was a mess. Darcy walked into the bar first; Brock thought she was getting tired. “Hey!” the bartender said. Everyone seemed to recognize Steve first. “Captain America! Did you want more tater tots?” he asked.

“Tater tots?” Steve said.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “We’re here for tater tots. Bring a few plates. And your security footage. Brock, show them your badge.” She ate the potatoes as she grilled Brock about his missing shoes. “They’re not in the men’s room, huh?” Darcy said. She’d seen plenty of footage of him drunk last night, Brock thought sadly. She was giving him furious looks, like a wet cat.

“No,” he admitted slowly. Next to him, Jack split a plate of tots with Nat. He offered some to Hank.

“I do not partake of anything called a tot,” Hank said.

“Ladies’ room?” Darcy asked, still dead-eying her husband. He made several pained faces.

“Sweetheart,” Brock sighed out.

“I’ll check!” Scott said happily. He knocked on the door. “Dude looking for his buddy’s shoes!” he announced.

“Oh dear God,” Hank said.

“Can we get some more photos for the wall?” the bartender asked Steve. He had demolished his own platter of tots.

“Sure,” Steve said. The bar’s other patrons—a tiny scattering—were smiling in his direction.

“No shoes!” Scott announced, emerging from the ladies’ room.

“Damn it,” Brock muttered. Darcy glared at him as she ate the tater tots. “Baby, I did not leave those shoes at a women’s house, I fucking swear to you.”

“Uh-huh, I know you didn’t,” Darcy said. “But you did leave them in my lab once after we had sex,” she added with asperity. “You told me you were going on a mission then, too. Was that a lie?”

“Ouch,” Scott said.

"No, no," Brock said, cringing.

They got the security footage and huddled around Darcy’s phone. “You traded shoes with that guy?” Darcy said. "Why?"

"I don't remember," Brock muttered. His onscreen self looked delighted with the shoes.

“Harold Latimer of Arlington,” Nat said. “He’s a retired dentist,” she explained.

“Huh?” Brock said.

“We must have become friends with him,” Scott said. 

“We should talk to him,” Darcy said. They tried to call, but Harold didn’t answer.

“This feels like mission creep,” Jack whispered to Brock.

“Speaking of creepy,” Darcy said, finishing her last tot, “I’ve always wanted to see what a strip club is like. Babe, let’s go.”

“Why don’t we go home instead, let me rub your feet?” Brock begged. This was the moment he’d been dreading. She'd get more angry. Possibly make him sleep on the couch until their child was in Pre-K.

“You hate my feet!” Darcy said.

“No, I don’t,” Brock insisted. He followed her out of the bar, talking about how much he adored her toes. “You got cute little toes, _Ciccia!”_

  
  


* * *

“This is charming,” Darcy said, as they pulled up in front of the strip club. It looked especially sad in daylight. There were a few cars.

“Honey,” Brock said, “you don’t need to go inside—”

“But what if my husband’s friends are there?” Darcy said.

“We did make friends everywhere,” Scott said.

“We lost men here,” Jack added slyly. Brock gestured at him silently. Jack grinned.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. Darcy burped slightly, then grimaced.

“You got indigestion?” Brock said. She had eaten lots of tater tots.

“Shut up,” Darcy huffed. She got out of the SUV. She looked especially pitiable duck-walking towards the doors of The Treasure Box. The group followed her.

“I am so fucked,” Brock said, as they crossed the parking lot. “My life is ruined.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, mate,” Jack said. He clapped Brock on the shoulder.

“Co-parenting after divorce isn’t that bad, really,” Scott said. Brock sighed heavily. 

“Not the right moment, Scott,” Steve told him wryly.

“This is deplorable,” Hank said. “I've just realized, Scott, you’ve diminished a national icon.”

“Oh, no,” Scott said, expression falling. “My bad, Cap.”

“It’s okay, Scott,” Steve said.

“Steve’s been responsible for his own diminishment for decades,” Nat said wryly.

“How would you know?” Steve said.

“I know Bucky,” she replied slyly, “and he knows all your secrets.”

"Oh," Steve said. "Yeah." He grinned.

The inside of the club seemed especially grim in the daytime, Brock thought. Music was thudding, but the crowds were thin and depressed-looking. Lots of older men. One of the day dancers greeted them cheerfully. “Hi, guys! You must be Darcy,” she said.

“Wh-what?” Brock asked. 

“You know my name?” Darcy said.

“He’s the first still-married guy I’ve ever met at work who only talked about his wife,” the dancer said. Her stage name was Carmen. 

“During a lap dance?” Nat said.

“Oh, he didn’t get any of those. Everyone was all over Cap and the silver fox. We just talked about you at the bar,” Carmen said.

“Really?” Darcy said, sounding incredulous. She sat down at a table. “I’ll pay you your lap dance rate to tell me everything that went on last night?” Darcy offered.

“You don’t have a lap,” Brock pointed out. Darcy glared at him. Her belly was rounded under her top. 

“Do you really want to be divorced?” Darcy said.

“No, of course not, sweetheart,” he said hurriedly.

“I have a lap,” Nat said, clearly enjoying his discomfort. 

“Thank you,” Darcy said. “Can I get a diet ginger ale?” she asked a nearby waitress as Carmen started Natasha’s dance. 

“I think I could enjoy this more if my partner wasn’t going to get bloody killed by his wife,” Jack whispered to Steve. 

“What would your husband say?” Steve said wryly.

“He’d be delighted to see Brock this uncomfortable,” Jack said. His husband and Brock loved to talk shit to each other. Brock was shifting back and forth anxiously. Darcy had a terrifying murder stare, Jack thought. It was almost expressionless. 

“So,” Darcy said. “Tell me about last night?”

To everyone’s evident surprise, Carmen repeated several funny anecdotes about Darcy while arching her back in Nat’s lap. They were almost braggy. She recounted several of Darcy’s recent professional accomplishments, knew that she’d coordinated a transport line for rescued pets from Virginia to be adopted in the tristate area, and that she’d been featured in several issues of _Us Weekly’s_ “Asgardians: Just Like Us!” features alongside Thor. Usually shopping or buying potato chips at gas stations, but still. “Did you really tase Thor because you thought he was a drunk dude?” Carmen asked. 

“Yes, I did,” she said, grinning. Darcy looked at Brock. “You _bragged_ about me? Here?”

“I love you,” he said, looking sheepish. “I talk about you everywhere.” They were staring at each other when another dancer waved from the stage.

“Hi, Hank!” she said.

“Well,” Natasha said wryly.

“No one tell Janet,” Hank said.

“Oh, I’m not telling Janet,” Scott said. “I’m telling Hope.”

“Can we talk outside?” Brock pleaded with Darcy. He was having to raise his voice over the music.

“Okay, fine,” Darcy said. “Nobody else do anything crazy.”

“Sure,” Scott said. “Go crazy.” His eyes were glued to the dancer on stage. “She is really good. Doesn’t she seem too good for this shift?” he asked Hank.

“Vikki has years of experience in ballet,” Hank yelled back, “but the neanderthal who manages this place thinks she needs implants. She told me yesterday, I think.”

“People have very interesting conversations in this place,” Darcy said, as she pushed the door open.

“We’re not Neanderthals,” Brock insisted. “Listen, honey, don’t be mad, please?” he said. “I fucked up, okay? I fucked up bad. I shouldn’t have gone out last night to start with,” he said, sighing. Darcy turned, frowning. She was still carrying her ginger ale.

“You could have told me and it would have been fine!” she said. 

“C’mon,” Brock said. “No pregnant woman wants to hear that her husband wants to go to a cheesy bachelor party.”

“I wouldn’t have minded!” Darcy said. 

“Oh,” Brock said sheepishly. He sighed and stepped closer to her. “Sweetheart,” he said. “I love you.” Darcy looked at him for a long moment. He waited, tense. 

“You stupid idiot,” Darcy said, stumbling into his arms and starting to cry. “I love you so much and you’re so dumb.”

“I know,” he said, grinning against her hair. “I knocked you up, though.”

“Ughhhh,” Darcy said. “I’m so pregnant. I'm the most pregnant woman in the world.”

“Let’s go home,” he said.

“We have to get them out of here,” Darcy said. She sniffled. “Do you still want to go to the Denny’s?”

“We can go somewhere better, if you’re hungry,” he wagered. “You want some donuts? We could go to that place you like?” He kissed her forehead and then her cheekbones, making faces at her.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Darcy said, without heat. She had a hard time staying mad at him. But she didn’t want to tell him it was the ridiculous faces that were really endearing. That would make her sound crazy.

  
  


* * *

“These are really good donuts,” Scott said. “Cap, would you like another donut?”

“Uhhh,” Steve said, contemplating the box on the table. Darcy looked up across the the table. She was sitting in Brock’s lap, eating a salted caramel donut. This was her favorite DC donut shop. 

“Try the key lime, Steve,” she said. “Those are really good.” She took another bite of her donut and Brock leaned over to kiss her neck.

“People are eating,” Hank said.

“Shhh,” Scott said. 

“Don’t shush me,” Hank said.

“Hank, they’re reconciling,” he said seriously. “This is an important moment.” Jack looked over at Nat. 

“How did you find out about us, anyway?” Jack asked her.

“Cameron Klein got me street cam footage when Darcy called,” she said.

“You knew everywhere they’d been?” Hank said. “Why drag us on this charade?”

“Because Darcy needed to know,” Nat said. 

“Thank you,” Darcy said. She had powdered sugar on her nose.

“You gotta a little,” Brock said, tapping her nose, “right there, sweetheart. Let’s put your feet up in the chair, huh?”

“Awwww,” Scott said, as he dragged over a nearby chair to put her swollen feet on. The others cringed at the screeching sound of the chair. Darcy smiled happily at him.

“Hey,” Darcy said. “Can I have the shoes you got from the dentist? They’re kind of pretty.”

“Sure,” Brock said. He frowned. “But they’re a little slippery.”

“This is ridiculous,” Hank muttered. "No one should wear plastic shoes when not at a beach."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one half inspired by one of my favorite Psych episodes, "Last Night Gus," which is itself inspired by _The Hangover, _and the other half inspired by the idea of a heavily-preggo Darcy yelling at Brock before discovering that he spent of all of his wild night talking about her. Also, I've never actually been to a strip club, so God knows if any of this is right?__  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loosely--very loosely--inspired by that tumblr post where the girlfriend says "there's a game on, babe" so she can sneak off for a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! TW for pregnancy stuff.

“ _ Ciccia,  _ what’s going on? You went to SHIELD medical without me?” Brock asked Darcy, the moment he got home. Someone had seen her leaving and mentioned it to him. She was working half-days this week, with Jane away doing observations. Darcy was too far along in her pregnancy to travel. She looked up from the couch, frowning. She’d been doing something when he came in and had adjusted the throw over her lap.

“It was just a little check in,” she said. “Nothing’s wrong with the Nugget.” The Nugget was their nickname for the baby. He looked at her quizzically. Something was wrong, he just didn’t know what. “There’s a basketball game recorded,” she said, gesturing towards the remote.

“Oh,” he said, sitting down. She tossed him the remote. He turned on the game. The talking heads were going over stats. He turned his head at movement in his peripheral vision. “How you feeling?” Brock said. Darcy had wiggled a little on the couch under her blanket.

“I’m fine,” she said. He didn’t know why or how, but he knew she was lying. She sipped water. 

“You’re drinking water,” he said.

“The doctor says I need to drink more water,” she said sadly. Darcy sighed.

“It’s good for you,” he said. “You want me to put a little juice in there? I could get you those flavor things--if they’re safe,” he added. “I dunno what they got in them.”

“That would be nice,” Darcy said, sounding wistful.

“I’ll go now,” he said, pausing the game. 

“No, no,” Darcy said. “I’ll do the juice. I think we have peach juice.”

“I’ll get it,” he said, standing up and grabbing her water glass. “You want half juice, half water? Splash of juice?”

“Ummmm, splash of juice?” Darcy said. “I really need to hydrate.” Her voice was glum. She wasn’t usually like this.

“You want a snack?” he offered, sticking his head around the kitchen divider wall. “We have Cheez-Its?” 

“No, but thank you,” Darcy said. She was looking at her phone. She’d downed all of the juice and he had the game on when she got up. “Bathroom,” she said. He nodded. She had to pee a lot. That was the new normal. 

“You look cute!” he yelled, as she shuffled down the hall. Her t-shirt clung to her belly and was hitched up in the back.

“Shut up!” she sassed back. He heard her mutter. “I don’t feel cute.”

“I still would, Cake Pop,” he called out. It was a running joke with them. She’d started it when he showed her photos of his post-Triskelion burns. Then his attention was arrested by a replay during the game. “Oh, shit! C’mon, where’s the damn ref?” he said out loud.

Fifteen minutes later, he realized she was still in the bathroom and panicked slightly. He got up and hurried down the hallway. The door was shut, but he could see a light underneath. “Darcy?” he said. “You okay?”

“I’m fine!” she said.

“You’re fine?” he said, feeling a flood of relief at the sound of her voice.

“Don’t come in!” she added. 

“Why can’t I come in?” he said, immediately reaching for the door handle. When he opened it, he found her standing there with her leggings and underwear around her knees. 

“Oh, no,” Darcy said, making a horrified face. “Nooooooo.” 

“What’s going on?” Brock said.

“I didn’t want you to see me doing this,” she said, huffing. She had a tube of something in her hands. 

“Darcy, what the hell is going on?” he said.

“I---hemorrhoids,” she said in a chagrined voice, making a face. “I have freaking hemorrhoids, okay? It’s a pregnancy thing.”

“Oh. It is?” he said, stepping into the bathroom. He looked at the tube. It was a hemorrhoid cream. Darcy sighed.

“The doctor said it’s common. The pregnancy hormones make you constipated, you can’t poop, you get stupid hemorrhoids. I’ve gotta put this on my ass,” she said grimly, squeezing the tube a little in frustration. Her eyes flashed. 

“Lemme help,” he said,

“Ughhhhh, fine, it’s hard to reach around there and I can’t see what I’m doing, anyway,” Darcy said. “Wash your hands first.” She backed up, so he could get to the sink.

“Does it hurt?” Brock asked, once he’d taken the cream from her. He squeezed some of the medication onto his fingers.

“Yeah,” she said, tensing. “The little bastards. They’re swollen veins.”

“I’ll be careful,” he said, “lean over a little, okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, shifting her elbows against the bathroom counter. 

“I’m just gonna feel--the little round spots?” he said, feeling carefully.

“Yeah,” she said. “Thank God, they’re just the external ones.”

“You weren’t going to tell me?” he said, dabbing gently. 

“Nope,” she said crisply. “I was not.”

“Why not?” he said. It bothered him. He wanted to know if she was in pain.

“Because,” she muttered. “This is embarrassing. Everyone acts like pregnancy is so magical, but I’m exhausted and my feet and ankles look like I’m baking bread in my shoes, and now I have butt stuff. I hate butt stuff!” Her voice was edged with frustration.

“I know,” Brock said, wryly, “you told me on our first date you were never doing butt stuff. There, you’re all covered.” He washed his hands and helped her get her pants up. 

“Thank you,” Darcy said. He steadied her, then kissed her gently. When he pulled back, she scrunched her nose. “Would you help me with this?” 

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “How often are you supposed to put it on?”

“Two or three times a day or whenever I poop,” she said, making a face.

“Sure. C’mere.” He grinned. “Gimme a hug. I love you,  _ Ciccia,”  _ he said, hugging her from the side so he could get her against his chest without squishing her belly.

“Ahhhh,” she said, pretending to be startled as they swayed back and forth gently. He kissed the top of her head.

“We’re gonna have so much fun spending this time together,” he said. She tilted her head up at him, expression changing suddenly from happy to stern.

“You are not allowed to joke that we’re doing butt stuff now,” she ordered.

“I wasn’t gonna tell anybody,” he insisted. “I don’t tell people things like that, sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh. I meant no jokes in front of  _ me,”  _ she said. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

“What if I just say I love you and get you water, huh?” Brock countered, grinning. “And you’re real cute and I don’t mind doing this--” he began, following her back to the living room.

“Pffht,” she said. “Lies.” She sat back down on the couch gently. “It does feel better now,” she admitted, as he went to refill her water. She needed to stay hydrated, he thought.

“They didn’t give you one of those, uh, inflatable cushions to sit on?” he asked, handing her the glass. She looked at him. “What?” he said. Darcy reached over and pulled back the throw. There was one of them sitting on the couch. It had been under the blanket.

“I hid it when you came in,” she admitted, looking guilty. 

_ “Ciccia,”  _ he said.

“Don’t make the face at me,” she said, sighing. “I’m rebelling. I’m tired of being told to take vitamins and eat this and not that and gain weight, but not too much weight. Now I have to sit on a cushion and sleep on my side? And then I’m going to stress about baby things when the baby is born! There’s too much of everything.”

“Okay,” he said, sitting next to her, “you wanna put your head in my lap and let me massage your scalp, huh?” He made his voice as coaxing as possible.

“Yeah,” she said, sighing. She sank down and rested her cheek against his legs. He tucked a pillow between her and his knees. “Thank you,” Darcy said.

“You always say I’ve got those skinny legs,” he said, trying to make her laugh.

“Your knees are like knives,” Darcy said, giggling. He rubbed behind her ears. “Ohhh. That feels so good.”

“Yeah? We don’t have to watch the game. What do you want to watch?” he said. 

“Nothing where bad things happen to babies or puppies,” Darcy said. “Something that doesn’t require brainpower.”

“You wanna watch  _ Psych _ again?” he offered. 

“Yeah.” She looked up at him. “Season two?”

“Whatever you want,” he said smoothly. She yawned. He turned on the television show. Brock kept rubbing her scalp.

“Why’d you marry me, anyway?” she wondered out loud. His hand stilled for a second. 

“You snored really cute,” Brock said. “I liked that.”

“Shut up,” Darcy said, laughing. “I know you married me for my boobs.”


End file.
